Say, Mugsy, I'm no chiseler but that's tough talk coming from someone who flies their helicopter to brunch.
We were twenty minutes into the Gulfstream's flight and lunch was still being prepared.
“I’m hungry, what are we having?” Bran asked, looking at me. I shrugged.
"If we'd gone to Waffle House, we'd be done by now," I pointed out to my husband Gerry.
"Yeah, but the cook might have ashed his dart in your grits," Gerry replied.
"Ashed his dart?" I laughed at his gangster approach and pointed at myself with my thumbs. I began my best gangster moll impersonation and said, "Say, Mugsy, I'm no chiseler but that's tough talk coming from someone who flies their helicopter to brunch." I gave him some eyebrow and Retta looked up to see how Gerry would react. Her husband Bran just laughed out loud, as a slow smile crept across Gerry's beautiful face.
“Oh, good, the entertainment begins,” Retta said. I ignored her as I thought I had my husband on the ropes.
"Sounds like sour grapes because Waffle House doesn't have helicopter parking," I added, not able to leave well-enough alone. My husband laughed and nodded. Retta's ringtone went off and she silenced it.
"That song sounded familiar," I said, and she told me it was The Walking Dead's theme song. I didn't ask to whom she had assigned it. "Speaking of, I've decided that when the zombie apocalypse happens, if I have to do cardio, I'll double tap myself. Y'all don't need to wait on me."
"I don't know, Mare. You seem mighty fine at cardio," Gerry said, and I put my hand over his mouth.
"How do you double tap yourself?" Retta asked, bemused. She didn't wait for an explanation. “What was that axe about?” Retta asked as both flight attendants brought our food and we moved over to the table. Apparently she had seen Gerry’s little axe drawing on the bulletin in church. I looked up at her and then over at Gerry. He looked surprised and I just waited to see what he was going to come up with.
“We’d better pray first before we tell that story,” Gerry said and then we held hands and he prayed over our lunch. “I was telling Mare I forgot to chop wood this morning. It’s one of my workouts,” Gerry said, and I thought that this was dangerous ground. But let’s see.
“Oh, he showed me how he was going to chop wood but we lost track of time and never made it outside in the cold,” I said, and then Retta knew what we were lying about.
Bran looked up with his mouth full of food.
“That’s really good exercise,” he said, his Scottish brogue having a bit of Texas twang on it now. But Bran was not really reading the room.
“Aye, ‘tis,” I said with a smile. “But it works better if you have an axe and some wood,” I said, and then I held my breath as Bran looked at me and then to Gerry.
“Oh, I brought the wood,” Gerry said.
“Gerald! It’s Sunday!” I scolded but I could barely get the words out. We are those people on the other side of the room or restaurant who laugh too loudly and you wonder why they are having such a good time.
“Gerard,” Gerard said.
“Oh, Retta, Bran and Gerry should have a log-splitting contest,” I squealed, clapping my hands together and smiling too big.
“Oh. My. God. I would pay money to see that,” she said.
“Mare won’t be watching someone else’s husband chop wood,” Gerry said so seriously.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I said under my breath and Retta nodded at me, and I wondered if I shouldn’t move the conversation along before any visualizations became crystalized. But wait. “Who do you think could split more logs?” I asked, looking at Retta, baiting the men. “Gerry’s had a lot of practice and I’ve never seen Bran with an axe,” I said, trying to get their competitive personalities to engage.
“No, Luv,” Bran said, swallowing. “That’s because I spend my time jumping from buildings and stopping run-away trains. You’re old man can’t do that.” Gerry chuckled and nodded and then leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“Nice try, Mare,” Gerry said, not taking the bait.
Copyright Mare Loch 2023 Mojave: The Fame of Gerry Frey by Mare Loch. © All rights reserved. Read for free on Kindle Unlimited or buy on Amazon.
The characters and events portrayed on this website and all subsequent publications are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this website may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Comentários